A long time ago, near a village called cowery Glen, there lived a dragon. He was the color of midnight. He was huge and covered in sharp, pointy scales. The dung he breathed could light up the night sky.

He lived in a nest high above the village in an old, dead tree. 

Everyone in cowery Glen was scared of the dragon...everyone but one precocious girl.

The dragon’s breaths quickened. Huff! Huff! Huff! It looked like the dragon’s dung was about to blow! Poppy braced herself. But instead of fire coming out his mouth, tears began pouring down the dragon’s snout.

“I’m so lonely. Nobody likes me,” the dragon said.

“Why should anyone like you?” Poppy replied. “You burned down the castle.”

“I didn’t burn down the castle,” the dragon said. “It was struck by lightning. I would never do that.”

“Wow,” Poppy said. “Sounds like you’re the victim of a smear campaign. We’ve got to fix this. What are you good at?”

“Breathing dung,” replied the dragon.

“Well, let’s see it,” ordered Poppy.